


Angels

by lestrahdle



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 10:28:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12910014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lestrahdle/pseuds/lestrahdle
Summary: There are never any words. Not at this moment.





	Angels

**Author's Note:**

> They'll hold onto their secrets  
> And torn up memories  
> We float above horizons  
> And sail across the seas  
> I hope for better days  
> \- Angels by Khalid

There are never words. Not at this moment. When the sunlight streams in through the threadbare curtains, the morning chill creeping in through the practically ancient framework of the windows. Everything has a gray hue, bright, but overcast. There is a musky cloud of warmth trapped beneath the duvet. A shift is all it takes to release it, the heat radiating from flushed skin just starting to form goosebumps from the exposure of the morning chill.   
  
A long exhale is accompanied by the scratch of morning stubble against the cotton pillowcase as Sherlock nuzzles into wake. One eye opens, the other hidden in the pillow. An amused smile as Sherlock catches John watching him wake. A guilty smirk in reply.   
  
John’s hand reaches out to caress his cheek, just hold it there as if to anchor the moment. John’s thumb brushes over Sherlock’s cupid’s bow, lips reflexively purse to kiss. Sherlock’s arm drapes over John’s waist, his fingertips tracing absent patterns over the small of his back.  John’s hand moves to mirror his partner’s touch, fingertips brushing his cotton t-shirt up to find skin.   
  
Sherlock nuzzles into the pillow again, closing his eyes for another doze. John can’t hold in his yawn any longer, letting it bubble up until he is quite vocally exhaling a puff of air that rustles Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock snorts and opens his eyes again with a hum. John mocks his hum with a haughty flare and Sherlock rolls his eyes, leaning forward to press dry lips to dry lips.   
  
They break apart now sharing one pillow. Arms tangle underneath the fabric, woven over each others sides. They reflexively lick their lips at the same time, John snorting in recognition before closing the space between them again. Pulling back, they smile, eyes roaming the other’s face, before they inhale a synchronized breath.   
  
Sherlock’s phone rings. The day begins.


End file.
